


All Purpose Blood

by DangerSlut



Series: All Purpose Blood [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Felching, Gang Rape, M/M, Max Whump, Poor Max, Punishment, The Organic Mechanic is a creepy voyeur, beat up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerSlut/pseuds/DangerSlut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t know how many take him, giving up counting after the sixth. They all look the same to him anyways, diseased white bodies smeared with oil, shuffling together and crowding in on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Purpose Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you 5aturno, for this idea.  
> Thank you Greastte, for the idea that the Organic Mechanic has convinced the War Boys to guzzle cum for proteins.

The drag him back into the depths of the citadel by his ankles, shirt rucking up under his armpits and belly being scrapped raw by the rocky floor. The painted boys hoot and holler, curse and spit at him, and all Max can to is grunt and squirm against the unforgiving grip of a dozen hands. He can hardly even breath, the tick strip of rubbed stretched over his face and yanking his head back painfully, almost starving him of air completely.

His captors are riled up and rowdy, the thrill of the chase and anger at losing one of their own pumping through their veins.

“Rabid smeg!”

“Feral!”

“Rotten Beast!”

Their voices blend into one, crashing against him like waves and echoing in his ear.

“Should have put it down in the waste. Wild thing got Tack killed!” snarls one of the boy, his voice rough with anger. A boot connects with Max’s ribs, steel toe digging in between two almost hard enough to shift them. All of the Max’s air leaves him in a huff, his lungs and ribs burning.

"Naw, this is a good one boys. Full Life with all purpose blood? You did good," comes the voice of reason from somewhere above Max. "Don't rough him up too much. If we treat him well, he'll last longer and help a lot of you."

A murmur of agreement courses through the painted boys, and then the rubber is ripped away from Max's face, allowing his first real breath since they caught him again. But the sweet bliss of breath was quickly stolen away, the painted boys crowding in on him, pulling his legs apart and pinning his arms down to the ground by his chain.

"We won't break it, just make it hurt. Make it hard for the beast to run away again."

A cold chill runs through Max at those words, fear welling up in him again. Mentally, he curses himself. They had been hurting him before, tattooing him and scrubbing him clean. Cutting his hair... But that seemed to have a purpose, not just for kicks or revenge. Maybe it would have been better if he had let them brand him, get it done and over with before they moved him along to whatever they have planned for him.

Flight or fight instincts kicking in again, Max thrashes and growls like the beast he is accused of being. He kicks and squirms, trying to shake their hands off, but that only serves to rile them up even more. Their hands tighten on his limbs until every grubby finger turns into a point of pain, booted feet raining down on him, beating bruises into his ribs, hips and back. He can hardly breathe or see, dirt and grime being kicked up into his face, his world reduced to agony.

A brutal kick to the face stuns Max, steel toe connecting with his jaw and filling his mouth with blood. He feels one of his molars break, bursting into tiny, razor sharp shards. They embed in his gums and tongue, ripping up the inside of his mouth even more and draw a long, high keen of fear from Max.

"Hey! What did I just say!" barks the voice of reason again, causing the painted boys to stop their vicious assault. "He was perfectly healthy when we got him and now he's leaking! Gonna have to waste supplies patching him up if you lot keep up like this!"

"Sorry Organic, it’s just-"

"No, shut up. What do you think Immortan Joe would think if he caught you treating his property like this?"

The painted boys are silent, unease coming over the group at Max's savior’s question. The only thing that could be heard was Max's ragged breathes and pained noises.

"Well, I can tell you he wouldn't be happy, that is for sure. You’re all lucky I'm letting you have at him at all... Now, you get one more chance, and if you can't manage, he'll be strung up out of your reach."

Grumbling courses through the crowd, a ripple of grudging acceptance of the Voice of Reason's commands. It doesn't stop them completely though.

"Fine. We'll just jump to the good stuff then."

The painted boys crowd in on Max again, making his breath hitch and lodge in his throat. Someone plants their foot firmly in the middle of his back, pinning him down and the hands holding him pull his legs farther apart. Someone drops to their knees between his legs, hands sliding around his waist and squirming under him, to the fly of his pants.

"No," Max growls out around the filthy gag in his mouth, speaking for the first time since he had been captured. He tries to flatten his body to the floor more, give painted boy no room, but slim fingers quickly undo the button and yank down the zipper. Max growls at the rough treatment, tossing his head and splitting blood as the zipper catches on his briefs.

Max's furious growls blend into the eager grunts and hisses of the younger men around him, the one between his legs practically purring as he tugs Max's clothing down, just enough to expose his ass.

"Stop," grunts Max, looking back over his shoulder, wild-eyed with panic.

The painted boy between his legs smile at Max, the scars on his face twisting his grin horrifically. "If you weren't feral, I'd use grease," says the boy, hands going to his own pants and shoving them down quickly. His cock springs forwards, white as the rest of him, already hard and leaking. 

Without any more warning and no warm up, the painted boy takes his cock in hand and pushes it between Max's cheeks, causing the pinned man to flinch and hiss at the contact. The painted boy's aim is perfect and with one hard shove, he pushes the head of his cock into Max, both their skin tugging painfully as they roughly slide together.

Max bucks and howls, spitting blood down over his chin. He claws at the floor, desperate to escape the burn between his cheeks. Of all the things he has had to face since the world went to hell, he has never had to face this. Never thought he would... God, he swore he was being ripped in two!

The painted boys crowd in even closer, some dropping to their knees around him, while others stood tall so that they could have a better view. They switch between cheering their brother on and cooing mockingly at Max, their hands stroking and pinching over his body.

The man between his legs huffs as he continues to shove his way in, unconcerned for Max's wellbeing as he buries himself to the root and then starts to pound into his prey. Every thrust and pull makes Max grit his teeth and choke back a scream, tender skin being rubbed raw as he was jerked back and forth by the painted boy's frantic, dry fucking. 

One of the boys kneeling near Max’s head shuffles around until he was right in front of Max’s face, cupping the bound man’s chin in his rough, greasy palm and lifting his head. “You’ve got a breeder’s mouth,” coos the boy, the oil around his eyes smudged and smearing down his cheeks. The painted boy strokes his thumb over Max’s bottom lip, catching on neat, white teeth as he fumbles to undo the fly of his pants and pull the gag out at the same time.

Max’s mouth twists into a grimace of disgust, outrage burning in his eyes when he realizes what the boy means to do. The moment the gag is pulled past his lips, Max bares his teeth and bites. He clamps down on the painted boy’s fingers, teeth wedging themselves in the joints, feeling them crunch and grind between his teeth. The painted boy lets out a screech of pain, jumping to his feet in an attempt to free himself. 

Laugher and shouts swell around them, the boy shaking his hand and cursing as he glares down at Max. “Blasted biter! I’ll shred you!” he roars, pulling back his foot and kicking Max in the nose, making him see stars. The man fucking his ass hips stutter to a halt and he lets out a long, deep moan, cumming as Max’s tortured body tenses due to the kick.  
“Don’t waste your proteins, boys” says the Voice of Reason, his voice husky with amusement and lust. 

Sputtering around a fresh wave of blood as the painted boy pulls out of him, Max expects him to be replaced by another cock, but instead he feels warm rough hands spreading his cheeks and a gust of hot air over his hole.

Hissing furiously as he feels the boy bury his face between the mounds of his ass, Max claws at the floor, trying to scramble away. It didn’t hurt as he boy started to lick him, lick up the cum that he had spilled inside Max. It soothed instead, washing away the burn and leaving his abused flesh even more sensitive than it was before. 

“Stop squirming, worm,” hisses the smudged faced boy, lifting his foot and placing it on the back of Max’s head and pushing down, grinding his face into the dusty floor. The heavy treads over the boy’s boots dig into his scalp, his broken nose flattened to the floor, bringing tears to Max’s eyes. For a moment Max hopes the Voice of Reason will chime in again and save him, and he curses himself for even hoping when it doesn’t.

The painted boy’s mouth feels good, and he hates it. Hates it when the boy pushes his tongue inside and swirls it around, bringing his nerves to life. The boy is too good at this and Max hates him even more as he feels his cock pulse, his blood starting to move south. The boy sucks at him, slurping loudly enough to bring a flush of shame to Max’s cheeks, then pulls off and licks his lips loudly.

“Who’s next?” he barks, slapping Max’s ass and making him flinch before moving out of the way for the next in line. 

Before he can protest or beg for mercy, someone else is pushing into Max, hard and hot for him. It burns less this time, the stretch much more tolerable now that he has been fucked open and slicked up my the first. The pain kills his erection and it is the one thing that he is grateful for at the moment.

The painted boys fuck him one after another, only giving Max time to rest when the licked their cum out of him. They pull him between pleasure and pain, the licking soothing him and filling him with unwanted need. All the boys are rough with him, fucking him only to punish him and for their own pleasure, but some still manage to hit that spot inside of him that forces out every thought and makes Max moan. He sore inside and out, his cock throbbing and confined in his pants, spotted with bruises and sticky with blood, cum, and spit.

He doesn’t know how many take him, giving up counting after the sixth. They all look the same to him anyways, diseased white bodies smeared with oil, shuffling together and crowding in on him. Hands would leave his limbs, only to be replaced by others. Cocks driving into him one after another, endlessly… He could have been fucked by the whole army… He didn’t want to know. Max just wanted them to be done with him.

Eventually the painted boys disperse, only a few sticking around to handle Max’s limp, battered body. They haul him to his feet, tossing his arms over their shoulder to support him when he can’t get his legs to straighten.

A short, stocky man with a dark brown beard and hair comes to stand in front of him, eyeing him up and down. It was the man who had silently checked him over when he first arrived in this hell, took his blood and then tattooed him. The only one who wasn’t painted up like a corpse. Max shifts uncomfortably as the healer’s eyes linger on his groin, grinning at Max’s half hard cock as it bulges in his briefs.

“Healthy everywhere, eh?” snickers the man, stepping forwards and pulling Max’s pants up then zips them up, fingers ghosting over Max’s erection. Max snorts and jerks his hips back, shocked to hear the voice that went with his face. This guy had been the one to keep the painted boys from killing him. His savoir, the Voice of Reason. Organic, the boys called him. “Good. We’ll have to use that. Got lots of thirsty boys around here… Ones that don’t always get their meats,” continues the Organic, smiling lecherously as Max snarls at him.

“Okay boys, take him to the infirmary and get him ready to be strung up… I’ll be up to fix him soon, just gotta find a muzzle first,” orders the Organic Mechanic, drooling slightly as he watches the War Boys manhandle Max down the hall.


End file.
